40 
THE FLORIST. 
42 degrees, maximum, with plenty of air. In the second, third, and 
fourth weeks, gradually advance from 42 to 45, maximum ; if the sun 
is strong admit air freely, rather than allow the temperature to rise 
above 50 degrees. In the fifth and sixth weeks, the artificial heat may 
be kept up to 45 degrees, and with sunheat, 55 degrees may be 
allowed ; this will do until the trees are in flower. When the blossom 
is out, and till the fruit is “ set,” range the heat between 40 and 50 
degrees, always maintaining as free a circulation of air as the weather 
will permit. When the fruit is “ set ” the temperature may be kept 
up to 55 degrees, only giving air in very fine weather. When the 
fruit is stoned, the temperature may be raised to 60 degrees, fire-heat, 
and 70 degrees, sunheat. Give the border a good watering occasionally, 
once in eight or nine days will be often enough. The syringe will be 
required every morning and evening, until the trees are in bloom, when 
it must be withheld, until the fruit is set, then syringe regularly, till the 
fruit begins to colour and swell off, when it must be left off by degrees, 
and as the fruit approaches maturity, left off entirely—the same rule 
being followed in watering the border. A great deal depends on airing 
the house when the trees are in bloom. If the inside temperature aod 
weather permit give free circulation as early as eight or nine in the 
morning; but if the weather is unfavourable, free use must be made of 
the ventilators inside. Also should the fire-heat be over the desired 
mark at night, leave a little air on all night; better to find the house 
a few degrees low in the morning, than have too strong a fire-heat at 
night. Plenty of air must be given when the fruit is ripening, as on 
that depends good flavour. When they are past danger of falling off, 
if the crop is heavy, thinning must be resorted to ; do it carefully with 
a pair of Grape scissors. 
* It. 
THE CHRONICLES OP A SMALL GARDEN.—No. VI. 
Who can deny that we live in a revolutionary age? What landmark 
is there that the progress of the age has not uprooted ? At noon I take 
up the “ Times ” which was published in the morning a hundred miles 
off, and I read telegrams which left the Mediterranean yesterday, and 
were in London last night. I miss my train (a thing, by the bye, I 
am not addicted to), and before that train has gone thirty miles of its 
, journey, my cara sposa is reading a telegram telling of the misfortunes 
of poor “ paterfamilias.” I go into a country village : the mere approach 
of a railway has transmogrified it, and it has its water-works and gas¬ 
works, &c., and is putting forth all the pretensions of a third rate town. 
Our trade, too, is revolutionised ; our friends, the country shopkeepers, 
keep no stock, comparatively ; if they have not got what you want they 
will order it from town, and next day you have it in your house. And 
what shall I say to huge Leviathans, and tunnels under rivers, and 
tubular bridges over straits, and all the other wonderful physical 
triumphs of this nineteenth century? Such were some of my thoughts 
one fine August day in the year of grace just ended, when I stood on 
